


The Brightest Reminders

by Bennyhatter



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Basically this is just sap, Canon-Typical Violence, Coonhound pup, Daryl is a Softie, Gen, Hunting, New Friends, Puppies, adorable puppy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-27
Updated: 2016-05-27
Packaged: 2018-07-10 13:33:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6987127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bennyhatter/pseuds/Bennyhatter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Daryl finds a puppy in the woods.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Brightest Reminders

**Author's Note:**

  * For [BriannaNicole](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BriannaNicole/gifts).



> Basically this is literally just sap and cuteness, because Daryl is adorable and he deserves to have nice things.
> 
> I totally have it in my head that the pup is a girl, and Daryl calls her his little Southern Belle, and Belle grows up to be gorgeous and goofy and super protective of Daryl and Judith. And they go out and hunt together and she sleeps in his bed at night even though there's barely any room for him, much less a fully-grown Coonhound.
> 
> So yeah. Sap.
> 
> This is for Bri, who has no idea I don't think. I'm working on something else for her, too, but it's taking a while and I thought she should have this in the meantime.
> 
> <3

Daryl hears the miserable whines long before he ever spots the pup. When he does find it, he takes out the walker that has been drawn by the distressed vocalizations and shoves it to the side. It's a wet, dreary fall day, and he can see the little hound shivering from the chill as it presses tightly against its momma's belly. She can't offer it warmth any longer – she's already dead and halfway eaten, either by a walker that's long gone or some other creature. Every once and a while, the pup will bark and paw at her side; its big, soft eyes conveying its confusion and sorrow as it tries to understand why its momma won't answer.

The archer can sympathize with that the feeling all too well.

The cries are getting louder, the familiar baying still too squeaky to be anything other than mildly adorable. Before he's even thought about it, he's picking the thing up and tucking it against his chest inside his jacket and vest; zipping the front closed again until just the tiny black and tan face is visible. He makes sure he doesn't catch one of the ridiculously large ears, not wanting the thing to start shrieking and bring any other walkers in.

"Hush, you," he murmurs as he slings his crossbow across his back and starts walking. He keeps the pup steady with one hand, making sure it doesn't slip down inside his coat or get caught by the strap of his weapon. He can feel it shivering from fear and the cold – feels the chilled nose tuck up under his jaw and sniffle wetly at him before it finds the collar of his filthy shirt and starts sucking. "Quit that. Ain't nothin' there a pup needs."

Tapping the coonhound on the nose hard enough to divert its attention, he gives it his finger and tries not to wince when needle-sharp teeth pinch and dig into his flesh. The pup must be old enough to start teething, because it's already working its newest distraction to the back of its mouth and gumming at it like it would a stick or a teething ring. It's a lot less painful than the alternative, so Daryl leaves it go even though he's not entirely certain how clean his hands are compared to his shirt. The pup seems happy enough to settle against his bigger, warmer bulk and ease its discomfort for the moment.

With the tiny body pressed so tightly against his chest, Daryl can feel how skinny the creature is. He's already determined to fix that regardless of what anyone else says when he makes it home and they see that he's brought back more than just a bag full of rabbits and an opossum.

Merle was the only one who'd known how badly Daryl has always wanted a dog. He just knew better than to bring one home to a father that would have killed it just as soon as look at it.

"Ain't no one gonna hurt you, pup," he croons softly. When it starts to squirm and fuss, he presses his mouth to the top of its small, velvet-soft head and hums low in his throat until it settles. It's dark, wet nose prods against his cheek; its warm little tongue rolling across his chin before it tries to mouth at it and he quickly lifts his head away.

"C'mon now, none of that." Daryl gives it his finger again, letting it chew and gum to its heart's content, and when it falls asleep still chewing he doesn't even try to hide his fond smile.

It's not like there's anyone around to see him coo softly at the pup anyway. His mind is already coming up with names for when he figures out what gender it is, and his future is now full of days hunting with the hound at his side – something beautiful and loyal and lethal that he'd honestly believed he would never get to have.

"Let's go home, pup. Got a few people that'd love ta meet ya."

The pup sleeps on, and Daryl heads toward home with the shadow of a smile on his lips and a new lightness in his heart.


End file.
